


Ticking down to one

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Running on Fumes [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fem!Every grandchild of Finwe, Gen, Rule 63, The Great Finwian Track & Field Genderswap AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The part where I actually start to try to loop in canon events.)</p><p>Fingon knows a confrontation between Fingolfin and Fëanor spells trouble, but when her current and former coaches clash, it's worse than she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticking down to one

“If you’re shaking, that just means your muscles are warming up,” called Fingon cheerfully. “Keep your core tight and your back straight.” 

Caranthir gave a muffled curse, lost her balance, and collapsed from plank position to the grass. 

“15 more seconds,” said Fingon blithely to the rest of them. “Hold…5 more seconds…And break.” She lowered her knees to the ground and sat up. “All right – sit-ups. Get a partner to hold your feet, do 25, and then switch it up.” 

“Got a partner?” murmured Maedhros, as the rest of their teammates broke into pairs. 

“I do now,” said Fingon, grinning at her. “Want to go first?” 

“You can.” Maedhros knelt before Fingon, and wrapped her hands around her ankles. 

“There are more interesting ways of doing this, of course,” said Fingon quietly, as she began to do her sit-ups. “For example, you could reward me for each successful sit-up with a  - ” 

“Shh,” said Maedhros, but she smiled. “Maybe if we’re ever doing core alone.”

“Mae, if we’re ever ‘doing core alone’, it’s going to be some rather different exercises…” 

“Shh,” said Maedhros again, and Fingon laughed. 

“Are you keeping count?” 

“Was that my job?” 

“Come on, I’m the one doing the work…” 

But Maedhros’ attention was caught by a tall figure approaching the track, a baseball cap pulled low over his dark hair. She recognized that scarlet track jacket. 

“Mae…” Fingon had noticed too, and had paused, upright. “What’s your dad doing here?” 

Fingolfin was making his way over to the side of the track, holding out a hand to his half-brother and speaking in too low a voice for either of them to hear. But Fëanor was responding sharply, his eyes flashing, and Fingolfin’s brows were drawing together, a frown on his face as he shook his head. Fëanor was snarling something now, gesturing to the infield, and more of the girls had noticed the interaction and were sitting up to watch. 

“Hey, back to work,” said Fingon distractedly. “If you haven’t switched partners yet, you – Jesus Christ!” She leapt to her feet. 

Fëanor, apparently outraged over something Fingolfin had said, had leaned back and punched his brother in the face. 

“Dad!” Fingon cried. She took off over the field, racing to where her father lay fallen, knocked off his feet by the force of Fëanor’s blow. 

At her heels, silent and white-faced, Maedhros followed. 

“Dad, are you okay?” Fingon dropped to her knees beside Fingolfin, who was pushing himself upright, grimacing and bringing his hand to his face. It came away bloody. “Oh, shit.” She glared up at her uncle. “What the _fuck_?” 

“Get your sisters, Maedhros,” said Fëanor, grimly. “We’re leaving.” 

“Mae – are you just going to – ” 

But Maedhros was turning wordlessly back to the field, going to where the circle of girls was watching, silent and amazed, and held out her hand to Caranthir. Caranthir took it, silently, and Maglor and Celegorm rose and followed their older sister off the field. In minutes, Fëanor and his daughters were gone. 

“Dad,” Fingon whispered. “Are you all right? Should I call someone?” 

“I’m fine,” said Fingolfin quietly. He got to his feet. “Don’t make a fuss.” 

“Too late,” said Aredhel. She’d come over from where she’d been warming up with the other throwers, and her face was pale and angry. “Eärwen was here to pick up Galadriel and Finrod. She’s already called the police.” 

- 

“I don’t want to press charges,” Fingolfin said, over and over, and without his statement, the police couldn’t do anything other than make some notes and take their leave. But the school was a different matter. 

“Dangerously volatile,” they said, at the board meeting. “We had our concerns before, when we first examined his coaching methods and found him unsuitable for a high school athletics environment. He is clearly a poor role model for students, and now a safety risk.” 

Fëanor stood before them, and said nothing, but his fists were clenched at his sides. 

In the end, they banned him from school grounds. 

Fingolfin tried to approach him, after, to make amends, but Fëanor pushed past him and left, his daughters trailing silently after. Nerdanel, who’d been standing in the back, shook her head and folded her arms, her jaw tight as she watched her ex-husband leave. 

Fingon sat very still in the uncomfortable folding chair next to her mother, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her fingernails cut into her palms. 

- 

“Well?” 

“Well, what?” Maedhros was bent over the ice machine, scooping ice into a plastic bag. 

“Are you going to say anything to me?” Fingon demanded. 

“What do I have to say?” 

Fingon gave a cry of impatience. “About my father! And your father! And  - ” 

“I don’t see that there’s anything to say,” said Maedhros, straightening up. 

Fingon stared up at her. It was monstrously unfair how tall Maedhros was; she could never get the upper ground. “Are you _sorry_?”

“I am sorry you’re upset.” Maedhros took her ice over to a bench and began wrapping the icepack to her shins.

Fingon wanted to throw something, but couldn’t find anything to throw. She settled for kicking the corner of the ice machine viciously, regretting it instantly as her toes protested. “That’s the most weaselly, superior, obnoxious _non_ -apology I’ve ever heard.” 

Maedhros sighed, and fixed her with suddenly annoyed grey eyes. “What do you _expect_ from me, Fin?” 

“I – ” 

“You want me to make it right? To fix everything? Set it back to how it used to be? To a time when everything was easy? I’ve got news for you, Fin – it’s _never_ been easy, it’s always been stupid and fucked up and complicated, and you just like to breeze through life pretending everything’s fine and everyone can be as happy and content as you are, when that’s not what life is like!” Maedhros was shouting by the end, and Fingon took a step back. 

“I don’t think that everything was perfect before,” she whispered. “I just – I just wanted you to acknowledge… It feels like everything’s changing, but I wanted to know that we, at least, could…” 

Maedhros let out a great, shuddery sigh, and sank her head into her hands. “ _Fin._ ”

There were tears in her voice, and Fingon immediately forgot her anger, sitting down next to her cousin and laying a tentative hand on her back. 

“Mae? Please don’t cry…it’ll just set me off, you know it will, and then we’ll be these two sad sacks bawling in the back room, and that’ll undermine all this lovely authority we’ve established…” She rubbed helplessly at Maedhros’ shoulder, trying to sound lighthearted. “Don’t mind me. I just needed to yell a bit, but I know it’s not your fault, and there’s nothing you can do. I just want – ” 

“Please stop,” said Maedhros, into her hands, such pain in her voice that Fingon flinched. 

“I’m…sorry?” Fingon pulled her hand back and stared down at her cousin’s bent head. 

“We’re moving.” Maedhros spoke the words flatly, pulling her hands from her face and wiping impatiently at the tears on her cheeks. “To Formenos. Dad got an offer there and he even convinced mom to have it be our new official address. She’s staying here, but…you know her new place isn’t really big enough for all of us. So we’re all switching schools. Their AD is really excited. They hired dad as head coach almost immediately, since they’re getting all four of us on the team…Five, actually. They’re going to let Curvo compete with us, even though she’s an eighth grader. Dad’s convinced that if she trains with a high school team she’ll be able to beat even you in the 400.” 

Fingon was frozen, unable to speak. 

“We’ve already started packing,” said Maedhros, in that same flat, affectless voice. “We’re moving next weekend.” 

 _Say something_ , Fingon thought. _React._ But she couldn’t so much as part her lips. 

 _I’m losing her._  

“It’s not that far away,” said Maedhros. “And I only have half a year left here anyway. Dad says college coaches will be more impressed by Formenos’ program, so…” She trailed off. 

 _Say something_ , Fingon thought again. _Make it right. Fix it. You can always fix it. You can always make her laugh when she’s brooding, you’ve always been able to stop her from taking on everyone else’s worries as well as her own, you could always distract her from her father’s latest craziness…_

“I have to go,” said Maedhros, so quietly that Fingon almost missed it. “I need to pick up the twins from after-school.” 

 _You’re losing her._  

Maedhros stood, dropping the forgotten bag of ice into the wastebasket, and left. 

Fingon stayed on the bench, unmoving, disbelieving. 

_He’s finally done it. He’s taken her away from me._

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. YES I HAVE MORE PLANNED


End file.
